


getting found

by sweetsymphony



Series: gone again [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abduction, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Winchesters (Supernatural), Kidnapping, Paranoia, Pre-Series, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective John, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:29:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsymphony/pseuds/sweetsymphony
Summary: Dad says that someone found Sam.Dean isn't so sure that's his brother.





	getting found

The police are ones who finally find Sam.

After a neighbor called in an anonymous tip about suspicious behavior, the local sheriffs office raid an abandoned house in Marietta, Georgia and find eight kids locked in the basement ranging from five years old to seventeen. Sam Winchester is one of them.

The detective who was originally assigned to Sam’s missing persons case calls Bobby with the news because the cell number John had initially given the police is a long-forgotten burner, and Bobby in turn calls the Winchesters.

They start the trek to Georgia that same night.

“Do you think it’s really him Dad?” Dean doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to upset his father by voicing his skepticism, but it’s there all the same in his tone, hesitant and doubtful. John doesn’t take his eyes off the road, knuckles white as the grip the wheel.

“I guess we’ll find out son.”

It’s been three years since Dean last saw his younger brother. Since the day he walked Sam to the gates of his elementary and watched him walk through, normal as can be. He hadn’t known something was wrong until that afternoon, when he’d left school and for the first time in his life, Sam Winchester was not where he was supposed to be. 

 

The police had found his backpack in the gutter in the two blocks between the elementary school and the high school, soaked through with slush and not a paper out of place.

That was it.

No witnesses, no odd behavior, no lingering smell of sulfur in the air or hex bags found tucked into the corners. Sam was just gone.

Dad thought it was the demon. It was the only thing that made sense. Ten years ago, something had come for Sam and gotten their mother instead and now it had taken Sam to finish the job.

It had reignited Johns internal fury to nearly catastrophic levels. Whereas their Dad had previously been determined and a bit overzealous then, he was practically insane after Sam had been taken.

And the more determined Dad became, the more uncertain Dean grew. Whatever his fate might have been, Sam was most likely dead now. If Dean had learned one thing from his father after all these years, it was not dwell on the dead, inadvertent lesson or not.

 

The police station in Marietta is ablaze with activity when they arrive, beat cops and men in dark suits swarming the area. Apparently, this is a big enough case to warrant the FBI.

“Mr. Winchester.” Police Chief Kennedy offers Dad a hand and a gruff “Congratulations on the return of your boy.”

“How do you even know that its Sam?” Dean cuts in trying to keep his tone polite but the officer can obviously detect the undercurrent of ire in his tone.

“Told us so” he sniffs, “waitin on the DNA analysis now.”

They watch a boy through a two-way mirror. He’s sitting idly in one of the nicer interrogation rooms, long arms stretched out in front him looking bored. More like some kid picked up for truancy than a traumatized thirteen-year-old who’s been held captive for the past three years. His hair is a honeyed shade of brown, similar to the color Sam’s sometimes lightened to in the summer months, and it’s actually cut into some semblance of style, shorter on the sides, carefully brushed back out of his eyes.

He looks like Sam would have if had lived to see thirteen. Jaw more pronounced, cheekbones higher as the baby fat grew out of his prepubescent face, a handsome kid with a golden tan and long legs. They watch him for a good five minutes until the boy curls his arms up on the table and buries his face into them.

“That’s him.” John breathes, voice uncharacteristically thick with tears.

Dean is unconvinced. “That kid is too tall to be Sammy.”

John frowns and turns to his other son. “You don’t think your brother could have grown a few inches in the past three years? What’s wrong with you Dean? It’s like you don’t want it to be him.”

The DNA is a match.

 

The boy, Not Sam, looks at them warily as if he is just as skeptical about this situation as Dean himself. He lets Dad pull him into a tight hug and gets swallowed in the man’s chest, Dad dripping tears into Not Sam’s short hair.

“I’m so sorry Sammy. I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you.” Dad says gruffly, tears making his speech tight and strained in a way Dean hasn’t heard in years.

“It’s okay Dad.” Not Sam says in a muffled voice that’s deeper than Dean recognizes. He hugs Dad back, just as fiercely, face pressed into the rough denim of Johns jacket.

Dad finally let’s go and tries to be subtle about swiping at his eyes. He gestures to Dean. “I bet you missed your brother.”

They stare at each other for a beat. Not Sam’s eyes are surprisingly similar to Sammy’s: a deep shade of green that lightens to hazel around the pupils. It takes Dean back for a second. Not Sams brows are furrowed, and he takes a halting step forward, unsure whether or not to continue. Dean opens his arms and Not Sam barrels forward. The weight is familiar in Deans arms, reassuring like Sams would have been if he had lived.

 

They are free to go for now, but the police want Not Sam to stay in the area, so they can follow up with questions sometime this week. Dad agrees and says they’ll be at the Super 8 on the edge of town room 132, but in reality, they start the voyage to Blue Earth before dark.

Not Sam sleeps in the back seat.

“He’s acting weird Dad.” Dean says, eyes trained on the slumped figure stretched over the cracked vinyl seats. Not Sam breathes evenly, face peaceful as the passing street lamps flicker over him. “Shouldn’t he be more. . . I dunno. . . fucked up? The kid acts like we just picked him up from summer camp or something. Like he hasn’t been like sex trafficked or held hostage or where ever the fuck he's been.” 

Apparently the basement had just been a pit stop. The kids all admitted to only being there a few days. Some didn't speak english. The police were having a difficult time identifying everyone and the investigation was going to be arduous without more input. Not Sam hadn't wanted to discuss much

Johns eyes flit to the rear-view mirror and watches Not Sam for a second, his expression is troubled. “The doctors said he’s okay. A little malnourished but no serious physical or mental damage that she could see.”

“That she could see.” Dean stresses and lowers his voice. “What about the stuff she _can’t_ see.”

“ _Christo_.” John whispers, and they collectively hold their breathe to see if Not Sam stirs.

He doesn’t.

“What would you have me do Dean?” Dad looks tired. More tired than Dean has ever seen him, even when Sam first got taken. His eyes are ringed red from crying so much today, and he his face is pale and warn. "The police say he's your brother, he says he's your brother, the DNA says he's your brother. I know you don't trust it. But what if it is really Sam?"

Dean doesn’t have an answer.


End file.
